


Left Alone

by hit_the_books



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Again open to interpretation, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Castiel is murdered, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Dead Sam Winchester, Drug Abuse, M/M, Nightmares, Not Beta Read, Open to Interpretation, Rape/Non-con Elements, Resurrected Sam Winchester, Revenge, Sam is potentially dead when he has sex with Cas, Sexual Content, Stephen King Feels, Writer Castiel, Writer Sam Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-29
Updated: 2018-10-29
Packaged: 2019-08-09 12:19:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 7
Words: 7,711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16449836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hit_the_books/pseuds/hit_the_books
Summary: Castiel is bequeathed a beach house near the Maine town of Perran. It's the perfect location for him to work on his next novel, and so Castiel moves out there.What he doesn't expect is for his past to catch up with him.





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was written for rosemoonweaver's 2018 round of Fic-o-ween.
> 
> It's based on a prompt... involving a beach house and strange dreams. Please also note that the town featured is a fictional one.
> 
> And this story has ended up as something that I was not quite expecting. **All those warnings and all those tags? Heed them.**
> 
> For those who red my Fic-o-ween story from 2017, you may notice that this year that things have been switched around.

Cutting the ignition, Castiel looked out at the shingle-style house that towered over his aging Lincoln Continental. The shingle panels were gray and weathered, the wooden fascias were painted a bright happy white that shone more than the golden sands only thirty feet away. Further on the sea caressed the shore and made this two story property picture perfect in every way.

It grated against Castiel. That perfection. He still didn’t understand why his late great aunt had willed the place to him. More than a decade had passed since he’d last seen her and he had never seen this house, until his agent, Fergus MacLeod, had offered to find someone to spruce the place a little.

After all, Castiel still needed to write something before the year’s end. “They’re owed a book this year. Come hell or high water. You need to deliver a manuscript before Christmas, or things will be difficult.” Fergus’s words still echoed in Castiel’s head when he thought on why he was at the house in the first place.

Sighing, Castiel grabbed the knitted beanie on the seat beside him, stuffed the creamy yarn accessory on top of his head, and got out of his car. He looked at all his things he’d stuffed into the generous backseat of the Lincoln and looked towards the trunk, which was also full of his things. The late Fall sun warmed the hoodie he wore.

He’d brought everything he owned to this house, because even though he didn’t understand his Great Aunt Amara’s generosity, he’d needed a change of pace. Staying in New York City had not been helping his writing habit one bit. His books had been sent off a week ago with some movers and one of Fergus’s lackeys, who’d ensured that there were plenty of boxes waiting for him, along with the furniture Castiel hadn’t picked out.

Sometimes his head would just get too full, but Castiel appreciated the extra mile that Fergus would go for him in order to help take some of the weight of existence off of him. Though it probably helped that Castiel’s words had been able to bring Fergus a great deal of money over the years.

Castiel had little, bar his books, clothes, notebooks and laptop. But as he headed up the steps, eyes looking to the nearby sand dunes and taking in just how isolated this stretch of beach was, he knew that he didn’t need things. He just needed space. And on this spot of Maine’s coast, he’d certainly found it.

The town of Perran was the nearest anything to Castiel’s old home made new. A small harbor town, it was half a mile from his new private beach. At some point he have to head in and get some supplies. For now, what he had in the cooler of his car would suffice.

Unlocking the front door, porch creaking under his old black boots, Castiel stuffed a hand in his jeans and stepped into the house. The walls and woodwork were unobtrusive, walls shades of white and the skirting, windows, doors and door frames pale blue. He could still smell the paint.

He ambled around the house, his footsteps hushed and reverent. The space was sparsely furnished, with just what he would need. Shelves for his books. A coffee table here or there. His new writing desk looking out over the sea beyond. A couch to relax on.

The kitchen was kitted out with all he would need, including a brand new coffee maker. As he made a circle of the kitchen, Castiel went to the faucet and turned it on, water rushing. His house keeper, as hired by Fergus, had followed their instructions to the letter.

Heading over to the cupboard above the coffee maker, Castiel opened it to find a fresh bag of grounds and a pack of filters. He smiled and set about making a fresh pot. While the coffee brewed, he explored a little more finding the bedroom to his liking and then headed out to the car to grab his cooler.

A few cups of coffee later, Castiel had managed to empty the Lincoln of his things and started to unpack. He’d found the new record player Fergus had ordered installed along with a large stereo system, and had an old T-Rex album playing loudly over the speakers.

The house didn’t have a working phone line and Castiel had asked that it would remain that way. He had reasonable cell coverage anyway and didn’t need to be too distracted. If he had anything a simple tethering between his cell and laptop would not be suited to, he’d head into Perran and find a diner or coffee shop with WiFi.

It took the rest of the day to put this things away and when he’d finally finished, Castiel was unsure what he should do about dinner. He checked what was available in town and saw that the only diner there was still open. It beat eating day old sandwiches.

The drive to town took nothing at all and soon he’d pulled up near the diner, paid the meter and was stepping inside as the evening was chill. Fall was well and truly there, Halloween only a few weeks away. On his way into the diner, Castiel saw a community noticeboard and a flyer about a Halloween party the town would be hosting. It looked like the kind of thing the whole town would be out at.

He didn’t know if he could handle being in one place with so many people. So many strangers. Still he would be in the town for some time, and he didn’t exactly want to be known as the weird writer living aloof and alone. But it wasn’t quite his scene.

Shaking himself from his thoughts, Castiel went inside proper. A woman looked up from behind the counter, the few other customers paid him no heed. She greeted Castiel with a warm, tired smile.

“Hey there. Take a seat and I’ll be right with you,” she said. Her name badge read “Kelly”.

“Thanks,” Castiel said, gravelly voice thick from disuse. He hadn’t spoken to anyone in over a day.

He went to a nearby empty booth and settled in. The menu held no major surprises, a glance at the specials board showed that they had a fresh spiced vegetable soup. It sounded warming and inviting, the perfect thing against the evening chill. Sure it wasn’t the kind of meal he’d been expecting at the diner, but he’d take it—Castiel had never been one for meatloaf.

Ordering and settling down with a mug of coffee, Castiel finally gave himself the chance to look at the diner’s other customers. A few looked to be fishermen, with their caps and full beards, thick yarn sweaters and muscled forearms. Another looked to be a high school student, using the diner as a study place as she munched on fries and poured over textbooks, fingers reaching for a laptop every so many minutes and furiously typing away. Her red bangs kept getting in her eyes and she kept pushing them aside.

Looking to the furthest corner, Castiel felt his breath catch in his chest. He thought he’d seen a memory, long forgotten and then he blinked. The man sat in the corner revealed himself to be a stranger on re-inspection. Bangs tucked behind his ears, warm red flannel shirt across his chest. And a smile that could have guided ships home. He was reading a book, Castiel couldn’t quite make out what the cover was, but the customer seemed to be smiling at whatever he was reading.

Letting out a long breath, Castiel drew his attention back to his coffee mug, but once his food arrived, he couldn’t help catching glances of the man in the corner.

“Excuse me, are you Castiel Novak, the author?” greeted an excited voice from Castiel’s right side.

He looked up from his nearly empty bowl of soup and found that the high schooler was talking to him. She was trying to hide an eager smile and Castiel blushed at being recognized already.

Castiel cleared his throat. “I am.”

The high schooler beamed and then dug in her book bag and pulled out a copy of one of Castiel’s novels and a pen.

“Would you sign this please?”

While surprised to be confronted by a fan of his writing in this out of the way Maine town, he took the pen and novel ( _A World Beyond You and I_ ). Opening the front cover, he looked up to his fan.

“Oh, could you make it out to Charlie Bradbury, please?”

“Of course, Charlie.” Castiel bent over the book and wrote a short missive, directed to Charlie, and then signed it off.

Castiel held the book and pen to Charlie who took it and eagerly whispered through the missive, “Don’t fear falling, only never trying...” She grinned at Castiel. “Thanks. I’ll-I’ll leave you to your meal now. Thank you again.”

Without further word, Charlie hurried off and Castiel went back to the last few spoonfuls of his soup. Once done, Kelly came by again and asked if he’d like any desert. He eyed the pies on the counter and asked for a slice of the pecan.

The man in the corner remained the entire time Castiel was in the diner.


	2. Chapter 2

Bolting up in bed, sheets and quilt tangled with him, Castiel’s breathing was heavy and rushed with panic. He looked around the room and found nothing amiss until he felt a chill across his bare shoulders and looked to find that the window had been left open. Shivering, Castiel got up from the bed and pulled on a baggy knitted sweater, before stepping towards the window to close it.

Hands braced on the bottom of the window to pull it down, Castiel sucked in a fearful breath. _What was that?_ He pondered, hearing something out over the beach, coming from the sea.

The moon did little to illuminate the beach and waves. A wail clawed through the darkness and made the hairs on Castiel’s neck stand up as he fought the urge to pull down the window so hard it would break. Slowly he slid the window down.

His brain unhelpfully grappled to remember what he had been dreaming about, and he could see some figure in his mind’s eye, walking towards the beach. The figure was partially submerged. A shiver ran through him at the recollection and then Castiel heard the same wail through the single pane glass. Heart beating dun-dun-dun-dun in his chest, Castiel pulled on some jeans and headed downstairs, and towards the porch door that opened onto the beach.

Pulling on his boots by the door, Castiel kept listening for another wail. It came and Castiel prayed that it was nothing. No one should be there after all—it was his beach.

Castiel grabbed a flashlight and opened up the door, pushing the screen aside, leading himself by the wails and the flashlight. He went down towards the water, because that’s where the wails seemed like they were coming from. The sea gently caressed the sand, the tide was coming in.

He walked up and down the beach, searching in the darkness that wouldn’t flee the beam from his flashlight. The narrowest window of sight was offered to Castiel. The wailing continued, sounding human for the most part until Castiel felt the lap of the sea against his boots and saw that he had to move back up the shoreline.

Just as he turned to walk back in the direction of the house, the wail sounded again, but it twisted and churned in the air. A sound not quite human chased Castiel up the beach, making his heart go dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun. When it was the last sixty feet, he started to run, flashlight beam bouncing across his path as he worked hard to power himself across the sand.

Gasping, Castiel slammed open the back porch door and closed it behind him, turning the lock, pulling the chain, and turning off the flashlight in three swift strokes. In the dark, Castiel tripped and fell to his knees. A scratching sound like claws on wood, sounded on the back porch. Not wanting to find out what was there, Castiel crawled away from the back door, and huddled behind the kitchen table.

He sat with his arms wrapped around his knees and hoped whatever was out there would stay out there.

***

“I’ll have an outline together by tomorrow evening,” Castiel promised, fighting a yawn.

Fergus gave an unimpressed snort over the connection. “Mind you it better be by then. It should have been with me yesterday.”

Three nights had passed much the same way as his first at the house. Castiel would wake from a dream about a figure making its way to the house, the figure closer each night. And his window would be open regardless of whether he’d closed it before going to bed. Wailing would sound across the beach, inhuman and all too close, until claws scrabbled across the porch.

“You’ll have it by then,” Castiel said, warming his hand around his third mug of coffee for the morning.

“Hm. Make sure. Speak soon, Castiel.” Fergus ended the call and Castiel slipped deeper into his writing chair. He let his cell fall to his desk and looked to his laptop screen.

The outline was there, less embryonic than when he’d driven to Maine. Really, he just needed to review it and check that it was the story he was probably going to tell. Probably, because sometimes in the writing of a novel, Castiel found that the story needed to go in a direction he had not foreseen. But Fergus would need to reassure the publisher that something of substance was taking place.

Certainly Castiel was not afforded the luxury of time authors like George R.R. Martin were, but he also wished he had the nimble storytelling mind of someone like Stephen King. But Castiel, like many of his peers, suspected King had signed a deal with the Devil a long time ago.

Rubbing at his eyes with his free hand, Castiel went to take a sip of his coffee and looked to see that the mug was empty. With a huff, he got up from his chair and headed back to the kitchen, the coffee pot already playing host to a warming batch of brew.

Castiel picked up the coffee pot and started to pour the hot liquid into his mug. Eyes drifting for a second he caught sight of the boards outside his back porch door.

“Dammit!” Castiel hissed as he poured coffee over his left hand. He rushed to put the mug down and then went over to the sink, turning on the faucet to cold. Praying that his skin wouldn’t blister. Slowly freezing his hand off, Castiel stayed with his hand under the tap for a good twenty minutes.

Icy and shivering, Castiel finally shut off the faucet and gently padded his hand dry with a cloth. Remembering what had caused him to get distracted, he stepped towards the door and looked through the screen.

Ragged tunnels of wood—five lines—stood out on the surface of the porch. Hand reaching out to open the back door and the screen, Castiel hesitated when he saw a new detail out of the corner of his eye. He looked to his left and saw similar lines clawed through the edge of the pebble dash on the side of the house. The lines were at head height.

Castiel backed away from the door and went to make a fresh pot of coffee.

Normally, his instinct was to find out what the weird and wonderful of the world was, so he could work it in some way into his novels. But the nights had been long. Leaving him filled with fear and a growing tiredness that wouldn’t just go if he went and examined something.

_Maybe I should get out and work from somewhere else today?_ Castiel pondered as he waited for his coffee, eyes looking out to the beach. Waves lapped against the shore, slipping and sliding backwards as the tide retreated. He wondered where would be good to settle down for the day.

Castiel retrieved his phone and further researched the town of Perran. There were several places offering free WiFi to patrons, but none of them were the diner of his first night in the town. Several bars had WiFi, but Castiel had never found sitting in bars conducive to writing. Research perhaps, but definitely not writing. Others were chain restaurants, but Castiel didn’t like sitting in places without character. Again it wasn’t conducive to writing. The couple of coffee shops in the town didn’t other much of anything substantial for lunch.

_It’s looking like the diner_ , Castiel thought as his thumb glided across this cell screen. There weren’t that many places in Perran to go, it was after all, small, with a population that hardly topped 8000.

An hour later, Castiel had changed into something less ratty and was about to get on his way into Perran, in search of a comfortable diner booth, fresh coffee and the company of other people. Also a quiet space to work, but that was secondary to reminding himself that the world existed beyond his beach side home.

Locking the house up, Castiel ignored a sudden urge to walk around to the back porch and check the marks scored into the wood there. Instead he turned to his Lincoln Continental and got in, setting his laptop bag down on the floor of the passenger side. He didn’t need that to go flying as he drove into town.

A point proven all too soon as he avoided a pickup truck that pulled out from a junction on a red light. Castiel swore under his breath as his heart hammered in his chest. He was too slow to catch the plate, but he hoped the driver didn’t cause anyone else’s death on the roads that day or any other.

Pulling up outside the diner in the same spot, Castiel paid the meter and headed on in. There were a few more people in than his previous evening visit, lunchtime starting to get into gear. He snagged the same table and looked up from his menu when he felt someone watching him.

Sat in the corner was the same man from before.


	3. Chapter 3

Castiel’s stomach nervously trembled as as he picked at the fries on his plate. He could feel the stranger’s eyes trying to burn a hole through him. Under the table, he kept jigging his legs as he tried to ignore the warmth growing inside of him from the attention. Castiel wanted to both talk to and run from the man, and that had been all he could really focus on.

He didn’t have much choice as the stranger got up from his table, coffee mug in hand, walked over to Castiel’s booth and then sat opposite him, slotting in without a word. The man’s long legs bumped against Castiel’s under the table, making Castiel scoot his legs back. The stranger then leveled his hazel eyes at Castiel, expression neutral and as he tilted his head back.

“You’re that writer,” the main finally said, voice sweet and deep, his eyes went to the laptop on the table, lid closed.

Castiel nodded.

“I’m Sam. Sam Winchester.” Sam held his hand out across the table.

“Castiel Novak… but you already knew that,” Castiel reached out, giving a nervous laugh as Sam gripped his hand and shook it. Sam’s grip was strong and sure, and made the hairs on the back of Castiel’s neck stand up.

“Not got much writing done today, hm?” Sam asked knowingly.

Castiel worried his bottom lip a little. “You could say that.”

“But anyway, you moved into the ol’ beach house on the south side of town?” Sam let go of Castiel’s hand. Kelly stopped by the table and topped up both their coffee mugs.

Castiel pulled back the hot mug, using the heat against his fingers to ground him. There was no mistaking that he found Sam attractive, though the name sound familiar. He couldn’t remember why though, so he answered Sam’s question. “Yeah, that’s me. It was my great aunt’s.”

“But you’re not using it as a holiday home like she did, huh?” Sam gave Castiel a warm smile that made Castiel’s stomach loop.

Picking up a fry, Castiel placed it in his mouth and chewed for a moment. He swallowed and looked Sam in the eyes. “I’m actually thinking of staying out here.”

“Where did you live before?” Sam asked, voice going soft as his eyes took in Castiel.

“NYC.”

Sam nodded and blew on his mug of coffee before taking a sip. He put the mug down, hands staying wrapped around its warmth. “Must be a lot quieter here.”

“Sure, but I’m probably going to hear the winter storms pretty fine.” Castiel ate another fry, keeping his eyes on Sam. He felt like if he looked away, he risked Sam disappearing and the more they talked the more Castiel didn’t want the other man to go anywhere.

“True, it can get loud. And dangerous if you get too close to the surf when it’s like that. But you’ll be fine in that house. It’s pretty sturdy for what it is.” Sam brushed a strand of curling hair behind his ear and Castiel tracked the movement.

Sam caught Castiel looking and then shifted so his legs were bumping against Castiel’s. As Sam’s legs pressed closer, there was no escaping his scrutiny and Castiel did nothing to hide the small expression of pleasure that passed over his features. Didn’t stop the sigh or the hum that he made.

Voice dropping, Sam looked at Castiel with hooded eyes. “Do you want to take this somewhere… more private?”

“Yes.”


	4. Chapter 4

It was crazy, Castiel knew it. Taking a stranger back to his home. He’d never done anything like this before, but Sam was making his skin tingle and his core ache. He wanted to consume Sam and then be devoured back. Never had he wanted another person so badly before.

Castiel pulled the Continental up beside his house and Sam’s Prius parked beside the Continental. All thought of doing any work on his novel that day was gone—Castiel wanted Sam.

Walking up to the porch, Sam’s hand trailed down Castiel’s back and then rested on his the swell of his ass as Castiel got the front door unlocked.

“Is this okay?” Sam breathed into Castiel’s ear.

Castiel swallowed hard and nodded. “Y-yes...”

It took a moment to get the door open and then the two of them were stumbling into the house. Sam kissed Castiel first as the door snapped shut behind them, mouth insistent. They pulled at each other’s clothes, and got undressed as they made their way to the stairs, leaving clothes in their wake. The kissing only stopped so that they could walk up the stairs, Castiel holding Sam’s hand as he led the way. There was no hiding how aroused both of them were.

Naked and needy, Castiel pulled Sam down onto his bed once they entered his room. Sam covered Castiel with his body and worked from Castiel’s kiss swollen lips down his jaw, neck, chest and stomach until his mouth hovered over Castiel’s hard bobbing length.

“May I?” Sam asked breathlessly, lips an inch from Castiel.

“Yes...” Castiel whimpered, hands scrunching up in the sheets.

Without warning, Sam devoured Castiel, taking his cock to the root. He could feel his tip touching the back of Sam’s throat and Castiel felt dizzy from the contact. Sam rested there for a moment, getting his throat under control and then he started to move. Tongue working in time with his head, Sam sucked and teased Castiel, making him shudder and pant.

Castiel flung a hand out to Sam’s head and tangled his fingers in Sam’s hair, holding on for something to stop him flying over the edge. The sight of Sam folded over him, lavishing him with such attention kept Castiel hovering near release, let alone the sure and measured bobbing with which Sam moved.

Slowly the sound of the ocean beyond the house drifted away as Castiel’s being became centered on what Sam was doing to him. The room hung heavy with their musk, combined and heady. It was with a slight sense of humor that Castiel realized one very important thing.

“Unngghh… Thanks… for helping… me christen my bed,” Castiel panted.

Sam looked up at Castiel and groaned, hips suddenly starting to shift as he rutted against the sheets. The bed started to creak with Sam’s hips, and Castiel lost himself in watching him take his pleasure.

Desperation started to speed Sam on and Castiel felt himself being pulled along into it, stomach muscles quivering as Sam dragged them both towards release. Hand not letting up from Sam’s hair, Castiel shuddered, feeling that he was close.

“Sam, I’m gonna-”

Pulling off of Castiel, Sam got to his knees and stroked himself as Castiel came. Castiel covered his stomach and buried his hands in the sheets, twisting the fabric around his knuckles.

“Cas… Cas...” Sam chanted, eyes half-lidded as he came in his fist, stroking his thick length, eyes on Castiel. The pet name sent a shiver through Castiel, making him ache for more even though he’d just come.

Then Sam collapsed onto his side at the bottom of the bed, curled up and catching his breath. Castiel got washcloths and cleaned them both up, before finally getting the two of them under the covers for an afternoon nap.

At some point Castiel became the little spoon.

***

The afternoon turned into the evening and Castiel took his turn at making Sam lose himself. Eventually, Cas pulled on some sweats and Sam borrowed Castiel’s robe so they could head downstairs for some food and something to drink.

Castiel made chili and Sam found his wine stash. For a time, Castiel forgot about the nightmares that kept finding him in the night.

“You have a beautiful home,” Sam said, putting his wine glass down. They were in the living room, a fire crackling in the wood stove that was beside the blocked up fireplace.

The red that Sam had picked out went well with the chili they were eating by the light of the stone. They were curled up under a blanket, arms out to eat chili and drink wine—somehow naked again. Contentment warmed Castiel and made the weariness of the week slip away from him.

“Thank you. Though I didn’t really pick any of this out. My agent did.”

“Then your agent has excellent taste.” Sam turned and kissed Castiel’s cheek, making him blush.

They finished their food and curled up watching the stove, talking and drinking Castiel’s wine.

“What do you do?” Castiel finally asked. “You can’t spend all your time in that diner.”

Sam blushed, either from the comment or the wine was making his cheeks red. “Actually, I’m a writer too.”

“What do you write?”

Sam purses his lips, eyes fluttering shut for a moment. “Nothing as well known as your novels… Uh, I write true crime.”

“True crime, huh?” Castiel smiled and kissed Sam on the cheek, the wine making him feel warm and easy. He knew a little about true crime writing, it had been covered on his creative writing masters, many years ago. But it had never quite gripped Castiel like it had some of his classmates.

“Serial killers mostly. Just a couple of books. But there’s a network interested in one. Wanting to use it as the basis for a dramatization.” Finishing his glass of wine, Sam set the glass down and turned to Castiel.

Castiel quickly finished his glass and set it down beside Sam’s. He didn’t get the chance to ask any more questions. Sam pushed him down against the rug on the floor and brought them into a kiss.

Mouth sweet and spicy, Castiel licked his way in, teasing Sam’s mouth open. Sam trembled above him as he held himself up on one arm, his other reaching down between them. Taking them both in hand, Sam stroked them to hardness with little effort.

He pulled his hand away and held it towards Castiel who didn’t need prompting. Castiel licked Sam’s hand then it was back on the two of them, holding them firmly.

“Fuck, Cas, you’re perfect...” Sam said as he stroked them. “I can’t believe you came out to the middle of nowhere. Fucking lucky.”

Castiel chased Sam’s mouth, pushing up to capture it. He kissed hard and pulled pack, heart racing. “Sam, fuck you’re… Fuck!” Castiel whimpered as Sam changed his grip and added a twist as he pulled upwards.

Sam found Castiel’s mouth and their tongues lashed against each other, Sam’s hand tight and making Castiel wonder what it would be like be like to be inside of Sam. The thought made him push up into Sam’s hand, fucking himself in Sam’s fist, against his dick.

The blanket slipped from Sam’s back and Castiel felt the heat of the stove against his skin. Sweat dripped from Sam, down onto Castiel’s chest. He wished he could lick it up.

“Sam, please, Sam...” Cas begged as his stomach coiled with heat.

“Come for me, Cas, come...” Sam pleaded. What could Castiel do but obey, covering them both. Sam followed and they both panted into each other, Sam half collapsed over Castiel.

“Can’t remember the last time I came this much in the same day,” Sam joked.

Castiel laughed and sighed. “I must admit, I don’t know either for myself.” Licking his lips, hands tangled in Sam’s hair, Castiel asked, “would you stay the night?” All memory of the nightmares gone.

“Sure,” Sam replied, kissing Castiel. “Then maybe I could make us breakfast in the morning.”

“Sounds good.” Castiel breathed in Sam’s scent and let go of his hair, stroking his head.

“We need to clean up,” Sam pointed out.

Castiel tried to move and felt his skin trying to rip slightly from Sam’s. “Ouch. Yes.”


	5. Chapter 5

Reaching the shore, the figure moved, silhouetted by the setting sun, broad shoulders familiar and strange. The figure lurched as they walked, steps halted and short, stumbling and unsure. But at the pit of Castiel’s stomach he knew where the figure was heading that their steps would take them to the house on the beach—his home.

“Gah!” Castiel sat up in bed, Sam peacefully asleep beside him, undisturbed by troubled dreams.

In the distance, across the sands, an inhuman wail carried. Castiel shivered and balled his fists, skin icy with cooled sweat. He knew that if he went downstairs, it wouldn’t be long before the claws would be at his back door.

Checking the time, Castiel saw it was only just gone past 3:30 am. Too early to be awake and running the risk of disturbing Sam while he slept. _I could just grab my laptop from downstairs and finish what I should have yesterday_ , Castiel thought glumly, the fact that he’d forgotten to deliver his outline suddenly very present. Fergus would forgive him if he sent it before Fergus’s office opened for the day.

Letting out a long breath, Castiel untangled himself from his bed covers, wrapped himself in the robe Sam had borrowed earlier and made his way downstairs. He tried to move as quietly as possible, not so he avoided waking Sam, but so he avoided drawing the attention of whatever trawled the beach at night.

It took some time, but Castiel eventually made his way to the laptop bag he’d dumped unceremoniously near his front door. He grabbed the bag, headed to a corner of the living room and wrapped himself up in blankets to work.

Typing up the rest of the outline didn’t take long, Castiel was already familiar with the story he wanted to tell. He just needed to order his thoughts and make sure that Fergus and the publisher understood what he would be writing. When he was ready to send the outline, Castiel dug his cell out of the couch, tethered it to his laptop and used the cell’s connection to send the file to Fergus.

For a moment Castiel checked the few messages on his cell. There were none from Fergus demanding the outline—that would have been the morning if Castiel had failed to send it to him. But as he scrolled through the few alerts his cell had from being on its data connection, Castiel found nothing of interest. Turning off his cell, Castiel shut down his laptop and then put the devices onto charge.

Distraction free, Castiel was about to head upstairs when he realized the wailing had stopped. He went to the back door and listened to the sea, eyes scanning the horizon behind the screen door. Nothing. On instinct he pulled the blanket around his shoulders even tighter.

_Every night it’s been there. Out there. Whatever it is, until sunrise_ , Castiel mused with sudden concern. He didn’t like not knowing what had caused it to stop. And then for a moment he wondered if he had even heard it at all when he’d woken earlier. A glance at the one clock in his living room said it was nearly six in the morning now.

“Coffee,” Castiel mused to no one and headed for the kitchen. He put the coffee maker on, enough for several cups, all thought of going back to bed, and to Sam, gone. The mystery of the wailing had him wound tight and unsure, but he had taken photos of the claw marks on his back porch. Something had been out there in nights past.

Inhuman and feral. The marks suggested a creature that could gut a man with a single gesture, but the spacing of the claw marks was nothing like a bear’s. In fact the spacing was more like claws attached to well spaced digits, like the fingers on a human hand. Castiel shivered and finding the coffee maker done with its work, poured himself a hot cup of coffee.

It would be several more hours before Sam would sleepily climb down the stairs and make the promised breakfast.

***

“You know you could call once in a while, right? Like talking with me is unlikely to kill your writing mojo,” Gabriel groused down the line. His brother’s assessment of the situation was true and Castiel knew he could have done more to stay in touch, but with being busy writing and being busy with Sam—calling family had taken a backseat. And he certainly wasn’t going to go into the strange dreams and nighttime sounds that had killed most of his ability to sleep.

Castiel snuggled into the blanket nest he was cocooned within on the bed. He was tired and cold, even though the wood stove was pumping out heat into the living room. All he ever seemed to be of late was tired and cold, but he still wrote. Still did what he had come to Perran for, which was to avoid a lawsuit from his agent and publisher, if he was perfectly honest with himself.

Sam’s arrival in his life had seen Castiel settle into a routine. He would write for most of the day and then either meet Sam in town, or Sam would come to his. Castiel never went to Sam’s house, because apparently Sam’s older brother, Dean, would just find them and spend the entire time teasing both of them.

When at Castiel’s they took it turns to cook, once other physical needs had been met— _and I am now thinking about this right now while on the phone to my brother!_ Castiel cleared his throat and finally replied, “I know.”

“Well I’m glad we cleared that up. Now, who’s the dreamboat you’re clearly gaga over to leave me with silence for over a minute,” Gabriel said, smile practically audible.

Cheeks going red, Castiel sighed and gathered his thoughts before answering. “How could you tell?”

“Because you keep drifting off elsewhere while we’ve been talking. I know a lovestruck Castiel when I hear one. Don’t forget, I know what you were like during postgrad.”

Castiel swallowed around a lump in his throat. He didn’t like to think about those three months when he’d been almost sure that he’d found someone. It had ended too tragically to be a part of his life that was sane to reflect on.

Clearing his throat, Castiel replied, “This time is different.”

“What’s his name?”

“Sam. Sam Winchester.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel's past catches up with him and he dies.

“Umpf!” Castiel snorted and woke up. His face was stuck to Sam’s chest, the other man’s warmth already calling him back down to sleep.

But the figure had been closer again in this dream. Curling short hair and large hands almost in reach. A part of Castiel knew that something would happen if he saw the figure’s face, not just their silhouette.

Dawn light was starting to creep through the curtains, which meant it was gone past seven in the morning. Beyond the warmth of Sam and the bed, cold November air would have crept into the house. The heating had been doing a bad job of staying on and Castiel knew he should get it checked out, but the wood stove more than made up for it when he got it going.

Underneath him, Sam stirred and kissed the top of Castiel’s head. “Mor-ning,” Sam yawned into Castiel’s hair.

“We don’t have to get up yet,” Castiel pointed out.

“Who said anything… about getting out of this bed?” Sam said, hands stroking down under the covers and finding Castiel’s ass. Sam’s strong hands squeezed Castiel’s cheeks and massaged them, kneading the flesh there in a tempting rhythm that knew just exactly what it was doing. Turning Castiel on in every which way that mattered.

Castiel rutted against Sam’s hip, just getting the right amount of friction. As he sought some release, Castiel started to tease and stroke Sam’s cock, spreading pre-come to slick his hand’s movements.

“Cas...” Sam whined deep in his throat. Castiel made his way up to Sam’s mouth and kissed him, not letting up for one second as Sam continued to touch Castiel.

The contact was desperate, and fast, like the two of them wouldn’t have another chance to be together in this way. Their love making was always like that—with a sense of urgency that maybe they wouldn’t have this again.

Twisting his wrist just so, Castiel smiled as Sam finally came, panting and groaning, body shaking the whole bed. It didn’t take much more for Castiel to follow him.

“I think… we’re gonna need to change the sheets,” Sam said, catching his breath.

“I’ll do that if you make breakfast.” Castiel kissed along Sam’s jaw, happy and content.

“Mmm, shower first.”

“Agreed.”

***

The cellphone is heavy in his hands. Castiel had only gone online to check his emails—a thank you from Fergus had been the only real message in his inbox—but Twitter had highlighted a story and alerted Castiel to it. He looked down at the headline again.

 _Grave desecration sees 10 year old cold case reopened_ , Castiel read to himself. Normally he’d skip something so sensationalist, but memories from a life long ago were crowding into his head.

Hazel eyes. Curling brown hair. Smile a million miles wide. A love of true crime and serial killers. And a protective older brother called Dean.

“But Sam’s dead,” Castiel murmured to no one. He didn’t want to see the connection, but his brain was making it for him. That perhaps the Sam Campbell of the story in Castiel’s hands was the Sam Winchester that had been boning him on the regular for weeks now.

It didn’t make any sense. Castiel closed the story and turned off his cell. He didn’t need to be reading this. He had a novel to write and a meal to prepare. Sam would be visiting that evening and Castiel had promised him so many things.

Once he was off his cell, Castiel threw himself into working on his novel. It wasn’t his best work, but he didn’t let that stop him. Knowing that that his editing and redrafting process would iron out any kinks. He just let his fingers work and fly over the keyboard as word after word filled his screen. Fergus wanted the first few chapters to at least check in on within the next few weeks, so it made sense to write hard.

The afternoon ran away with Castiel and so he was late getting dinner on by the time he was done writing for the day. He got the wood stove going and went into his kitchen to begin fixing up a pot roast. The excitement he would have felt a week ago while waiting for Sam to arrive had been replaced with an unsettled stomach and a rapid heart beat.

Dun-dun-dun-dun went Castiel’s heart as he went through the motions of fixing dinner. He wanted to wildly believe it was all just a coincidence, but too much was the same. The way Sam’s hands gripped him, or the way the two of them would fall asleep in each other’s arms, or how Sam would give him little writing tips here and then. So much was the same and when Castiel thought about the way that boyish face could have grown up around those soulful hazel eyes—all he could see was Sam Winchester.

It wasn’t until the pot roast was almost done that Castiel thought that maybe he could just grab his laptop and leave. Just take his novel and his cell and drive off. Send someone else to pack up his house. He didn’t have to see Sam. Didn’t have to have his heart beat dun-dun-dun-dun like it wanted to burst out of his chest.

He had a choice.

A choice he had taken from Sam Campbell all those years ago.

Despair pushed Castiel down to the floor and made him sit beside the kitchen sink. He knew all too well what he had done. For Sam Campbell had been a wonderful spark of humanity, so hopeful and willing to help, but he had had a darkness too. A darkness that Castiel had enabled to grow as the two of them had proceeded with their studies.

It had been drugs of course. Oxy. A habit Sam hadn’t been able to kick since a car crash that had killed his father. And one day Sam had taken too many. All Castiel had had to have done was check on Sam, and rolled Sam over, so that he wouldn’t have swallowed his own vomit. But Castiel had been in a rush to get to his first meeting with an agent. He’d been in a rush to succeed their entire time in postgrad—done nothing to address the signs that Sam had a problem.

Ambulances and police cars had waited for Castiel when he came home. Dean Campbell had found Castiel and almost gutted him on the spot.

Two breakdowns and a lot of therapy later, Castiel had packaged up that part of his life and set it aside. And now it had found him, he was sure of it.

The timer for the pot roast going off drove Castiel from his thoughts. He got up, slowing easing himself off the floor. He turned the stove off and looked around his kitchen. His mind and body were numb, thoughts coming to him shrouded in wool.

The front porch bell rang through the house and as if on autopilot, Castiel headed through to the front door. A familiar figure loomed under the porch light, visible through the frosted glass.

Castiel’s hand hesitated on the door handle. But then it started to turn and the door opened inwards, revealing Sam Winchester and a shorter figure behind him with lighter hair.

Castiel looked up into Sam’s eyes, but saw nothing there. No recognition. No life.

“Hi, Cas,” spoke an unfamiliar man’s voice.

Focusing past Sam, Castiel took in the shorter figure. It was Dean Campbell—older and crueler.

Dun-dun-dun-dun.

A small jolt of adrenaline tried to persuade Castiel to move. To run and flee, escape to the beach and run until he found safety and deliverance. Fear kept him rooted to the spot, muscles tense, eyes bulging, sweat trickling coolly down the back of his neck.

“Sam’s… dead,” Castiel croaked out.

Dean smiled and tilted his head, eyes flicking from Sam to Castiel. “Huh. Well, you’d be the expert on that, right?”

Castiel tried to turn then, tried to run, but a flick of Dean’s wrist stopped that. The form that was Sam Winchester/Campbell lashed his right hand out, whipping it across Castiel’s throat.

Breath suddenly became impossible as a sticky wetness soaked the front of Castiel’s clothes. He slumped down to his knees, barely able to look up at Sam and Dean. The nails on Sam’s right hand looked long and hard, and bright red. It took Castiel a moment to realize that was his blood.

Dean leaned past Sam and looked down at Castiel. He didn’t say anything more, just watched as the life drained out of Castiel.

Before long, Castiel’s world went black and silent.


	7. Epilogue

Dean looked out at the beach house, eyes tired, the faint smell of lamb's blood still clinging to his clothes. The wind whipped around the dunes, making Dean’s jacket flutter and shift.

He held a hand around the amulet on his neck. The one Sam had given him a million Christmases ago.

Sadness wrapped around Dean, making him wish he’d seen the signs sooner when Sam had started using.

Turning to the pyre he had built, Dean pulled out a matchbook. He struck a match alight and guided the flame to the sticks and branches that held Sam. The fire caught and spread, closing around Sam.

No one came to the beach or to the house as Dean kept his vigil.

By the time Castiel’s body was discovered, Dean and Sam were long gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eek!
> 
> If you made it this far - thank you for reading.
> 
> Comments and kudos appreciated.
> 
> You can find me on Tumblr at [dreamsfromthebunker](https://dreamsfromthebunker.tumblr.com).


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